He was always a desperate
fighter, and such men were more than ever needed."
There is, or was, a second inn in this town called l'Ecu de France. At
its door the Marquis stopped, bade me a mysterious good-night, and
disappeared.
As I walked slowly toward my inn, I met, in the shadow of a row of
poplars, the garcon who had brought me my Burgundy a little time ago. I
was thinking of Colonel Gaillarde, and I stopped the little waiter as he
passed me.
"You said, I think, that Colonel Gaillarde was at the Belle Etoile for a
week at one time."
"Yes, Monsieur."
"Is he perfectly in his right mind?"
The waiter stared. "Perfectly, Monsieur."
"Has he been suspected at any time of being out of his mind?"
"Never, Monsieur; he is a little noisy, but a very shrewd man."
"What is a fellow to think?" I muttered, as I walked on.
I was soon within sight of the lights of the Belle Etoile. A carriage,
with four horses, stood in the moonlight at the door, and a furious
altercation was going on in the hall, in which the yell of Colonel
Gaillarde out-topped all other sounds.
Most young men like, at least, to witness a row. But, intuitively, I
felt that this would interest me in a very special manner. I had only
fifty yards to run, when I found myself in the hall of the old inn.
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